Page 12 of Queen of Sherwood

“Hope?” Robert spat, disgust in his voice. “We can’t fight with hope on our side, sister. Hope and faith are the Templar’s jurisdiction.”

“Bishop Sutton,” Tuck grunted aloud, as if carrying on a separate conversation from us.

“What was that, Tuck?” John asked.

“With the Bishop of Ravenshead staying so long in Nottingham, alongside Sheriff George, what is the likelihood these warrior-priests don’t come sniffing?”

“No, no,” John assured, “Bishop Sutton is a good man. I’ve met him. He wouldn’t put innocent people in harm’s way, if he understands the business practices and questionable strategies of the Knights Templar like Robert says.”

“I know he’s good,” Tuck said, and his face darkened, even with the moonlight on it. “That doesn’t mean he’ll make the right choice, brother. Especially with the Sheriff in his ear. He might not have much of a choice.”

More silence fell. My stomach soured.

What else was there to say?

My heart sank, and my face grew even paler and colder than before. And with the chill, I lost any hope in a peaceful existence or resolution where these newcomers were concerned.

Chapter 4

Guy of Gisborne

“What the hell does this heckler, Montford, want?” Sir George wailed as he wore out the floorboards of his conference room with all his pacing.

Bishop Sutton, always cool and collected, hid his hands in the oversized armholes of his robe’s sleeves while he watched George walk from one end of the room to the other. “His money, I imagine, Sheriff.”

The Sheriff groaned, rubbed sweat from his forehead, and continued pacing while biting the nail of his thumb.

George had been sweating quite a lot, recently. I supposed the stress of his station was wearing on him, given his recent failures, and the men higher on the ladder than him were starting to take notice.

I could have helped my liege, if he’d only asked for my assistance. But no, stubborn George thought he knew best, and deigned to hide things from me. Which meant I had to stare through the hidden eyeholes of this wall, hidden away like a rat in a cellar, to listen and watch his clandestine meetings with the Bishop of Ravenshead.

For a man of my status, information was everything. Didn’t George know that? Was he embarrassed to admit his faults, which meant keeping things from me because he worried I would judge him?

Foolish man. I had only ever had the Sheriff of Nottingham’s best interests at heart.

Now, here he was, meeting with Bishop Sutton again, being lambasted by new guests. I knew the name Amadeus Montford well, though I wished I didn’t.

“The money you lost—my money,” Sutton reminded the Sheriff, “was loaned from the Templars. Sir Montford has arrived from Newark-on-Trent to collect for his masters. And, I suspect, to get a better understanding of what’s been happening in Nottingham.”

“What’s happening?” George yelled. “I’ll tell him what’s happening! I’ve been doing my damndest to wrestle every fucking halfpenny from the bottom-feeders of this land. Is the Saladin tithe not enough? Ten-percent of everything? My catchpole has never been light. I can’t push the commoners much harder without risking outright revolt.”

“I imagine he worries another situation has arisen like that concerning Gilbert de Ogrestan.”

The Sheriff’s face paled. He walked out of my limited view for a moment, then came back into focus and spun to the bishop. After quickly opening his mouth to say something, he thought better of it and went with something else.

“I’m no thief,” he said.

No, dear George, you are much worse. You’re a prideful, gluttonous, wrathful man. How many more sins must I pin to your name before you realize your faults and ask for help?

The case of Gilbert de Ogrestan was well-know in the lore of the Order of the Knights Templar. Two years ago, Gilbert had been caught embezzling taxes gained from the Saladin tithe—the expansive ten-percent tax levied by the Crown following Sultan Saladin’s capture of Jerusalem in 1187. The tithe was the reason, mostly, why groups such as the Merry Men existed. After Sir Gilbert got caught stealing the funds, he was punished by the Grand Master of the Order. In fact, no one had heard from Gilbert de Ogrestan since.

I imagined Sir George didn’t want the same fate to befall him, or even a whiff of an accusation of impropriety by the Knights Templar.

The Templar Knights were a headache. They had holdings everywhere across this land, including the hospital where Sir Amadeus Montford was stationed at Newark-on-Trent. Entirely too close for comfort, in my opinion.

King Richard had given the Templars entirely too much power. They were immune from all pleas, adjudication, and could go wherever they pleased.

Sir Montford had used his carte blanche to come here, to harass the Sheriff. But George wanted a closed-door meeting with Bishop Sutton, first, to understand what he was walking into.

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